


Kiss the Cook

by CerasiJ



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Chefs, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, Mental Health Issues, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Native Alaskan characters, Original Character(s), Pepper Potts & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Slow Burn, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve Rogers is a cinnamon roll, author repping that alaska life, like so slow dude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerasiJ/pseuds/CerasiJ
Summary: Wandering around Stark Tower in the middle of the night was just something Steve Rogers did now. He didn’t expect to find a restaurant, or meet a chef who would change his life. (Steve/OC)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A very special thank you to my beta, [DanceLikeAnArchitect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceLikeAnArchitect/profile), for all the fantastic suggestions and input!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets someone interesting on the 77th floor of Stark Tower.

Stark Tower  
Sunday, May 27th, 2012  
3:27am

Steve Rogers stared blankly at the white wall beside his bed, sleep slipping out of his grasp for the fifth night in a row. The air in his studio apartment was heavy and stagnant, even though the low hum of the HVAC system clicking on and off was all he could hear past the thundering heartbeat in his ears.

City lights cast a muted glow through the window, illuminating the blindingly white wall in his field of vision. The bedclothes felt scratchy and constricting, and nothing he did seemed to settle his racing thoughts.

Steve hadn’t slept well—if at all—for a week and it was starting to show. 

During his waking hours, his eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and gritty. His bones and joints seemed to ache without a cause. His muscles were as taut as a rubber band waiting to snap.

Worst of all, his temper was growing exceptionally short. 

That afternoon, Tony had gotten on his nerves so badly that Steve left the tower, walking the city restlessly and not returning until well after sunset, only to sequester himself in his bedroom like a sullen teenage boy.

It had been three weeks since the Battle of New York and the world had been irrevocably changed. People knew aliens were real; that travel between worlds and realms was possible. There was no taking that back now. 

In the aftermath, Tony had remodeled several floors, turning Stark Tower into Avenger HQ. Bunking up with all his co-workers—for lack of a better term—had seemed the best option for him at the time. 

It was better than his situation before the invasion, living in the SHIELD dorms and being poked and prodded by the eggheads who couldn’t figure out how he was still alive after all these years. 

Stark Tower afforded him a freedom that he both loved and loathed. Loved because he had the autonomy to do what he pleased without a plethora of scientists dogging his every step; loathed because even though he was surrounded by people, he was still alone.

Deep inside, Steve knew what the root of the problem actually was… His agitation, inquietude and growing depression. He didn’t fit in here, anywhere. He was a man out of time. An old man trapped in a young man’s body. Everyone he ever knew was long, long gone and the world had carried on without him.

He was so wretchedly _lonely_.

Just thinking the word made something heavy and cold settle between his lungs, choking him with a gasp as tears stung his eyes. He flung himself onto his back, in an effort to escape the tightness in his chest, his mind becoming a maelstrom of negative thoughts.

Relationships were his problem. The problem: he didn’t have any. It was terribly difficult to relate to anyone in 2012. A little over a month ago, his last memory was that of a world plunged into war. War with each other, war against HYDRA, but now all of that was done. Finished without him. The world had moved on. Who could possibly understand what he’d been through?

He wished, in a way, that he’d never woken up at all. It would have been kinder just to leave him in the Arctic, trapped in blissful nothingness, instead of thrusting him into the future and cursing him to live some miserable half-life. 

A wave of anger washed through him and he sat up, shoving the covers away and wiping frustrated tears from his eyes. He reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. Sleep wouldn’t be coming tonight and he needed to clear his mind.

A little over a week ago, Steve had taken to exploring Stark Tower when he couldn’t sleep. The building had 93 floors and he still didn’t know what they all contained. So far he’d found a swimming pool, several gyms and laboratories, a library and a coffee shop.

He slipped on a pair of tennis shoes that had been issued to him by SHIELD and was out the door before he had second thoughts. He jabbed blindly at the elevator button, briefly wondering if he should change out of his sweat pants. He shook his head—who else would be wandering around Stark Tower at three o’clock in the morning anyway? 

The elevator slid open without a sound and he stepped inside, using the _cover your eyes and aim for a button_ method of selection. The floor underneath him gave a gentle lurch as the elevator descended. 

“ _Going down_ ,” the elevator intoned. 

Steve frowned briefly at the speaker grille, remembering returning from a SHIELD briefing the week prior and Tony’s loud, “THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!” after the elevator had made the same utterance. Everyone in the car had roared with laughter while Steve gaped awkwardly at the back of Tony’s head, trying first to understand the joke, and once it was understood, struggling to pretend he was comfortable with laughing at something so crass.

The elevator settled into place, the double doors sliding open as the voice relayed, “Floor 77.”

Steve’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he peered out of the elevator doors. The area immediately outside seemed... warm. Cozy, even. Out the door, to his left, a red leather chair and matching couch were nestled against an exposed brick wall. Soft, yellow lighting highlighted crisp black and white mountain landscapes above the furniture. Next to the couch, a brick archway that opened into what appeared to be a restaurant.

His curiosity distracted him and he jumped when Jarvis’ voice cut through his inspection. “Shall I alert Chef Adams that you’re here, Captain Rogers?”

 _Jesus, Mary and Joseph!_ He thought, nearly clutching his chest at the startle. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to Jarvis. He hated talking to a disembodied voice that could see everything. It gave him the creeps. 

Recovering himself, he asked, “Uh, what? A chef?” 

“Yes, Captain. Chef Adams is the head chef for Mr. Stark’s executive kitchen. This cafe is only available to Stark Industries executive staff, overnight guests in the tower, and of course, the Avengers.”

His eyebrows went even higher in disbelief. “Tony has a private chef that keeps hours at three in the morning?”

“Yes, sir. The executive cafe is open 24/7.”

Steve dithered for a moment, he wasn’t the slightest bit hungry and it felt weird going into a private cafe in the middle of the night. He hadn’t even begun to make up his mind to get off the elevator when Jarvis made the decision for him.

“I’ve notified Chef Adams you’re here, Captain.”

“No, wait! I wasn’t-...” he sighed, halfheartedly. Now that Jarvis had woken this poor guy up, Steve didn’t want to look like a jerk by just leaving. “Thanks, Jarvis.”

“Good evening, Captain Rogers.”

Steve stepped out of the elevator in resignation, wondering if he should have pressed another button. 

———

Annika Adams had just penciled the word ‘ _IMBECILE_ ’ into the New York Times Crossword puzzle when Jarvis announced, “Chef Adams, Captain Rogers to see you.” 

Annika glanced down at the small screen inlaid under the counter of the bar, her eyebrows rising in surprise when she saw the well built man stepping cautiously out of the foyer.

“Well, look at that,” she murmured, “He _does_ exist.” 

With a half-grin, she said, “Thanks, Jarvis,” and turned back to her crossword puzzle. She tapped her pen against her bottom lip rhythmically, pondering on the clue for 8 Down. It was ‘ _MAGMA_ ’. 

“Ah ha!” She crowed quietly in victory as she quickly scribbled it in.

The skin on the back of her neck began to prickle as she studied the newsprint in her hands. Slowly, she turned her head to the right, toward the elevator bank behind the brick archway. She saw a pair of bright blue eyes and mussed blonde hair peeking at her from across the room. He looked like he’d just tumbled out of bed. 

Annika couldn’t help the grin that came to her face. He was _much_ cuter in person, she thought. 

Setting her pen down, she straightened, looked right at him and greeted, “Good morning, Captain Rogers.”

“Hello,” he replied quietly, still looking around the corner with trepidation, like he hadn't quite expected to find her there. 

“You can come in, I don’t bite,” she teased. 

The tip of his visible ear turned pink, “Uh, I’m… I’m in my pajamas… I didn’t expect to find a restaurant up here. I’m not really dressed for it.”

Annika laughed, a clear and joyful sound. She stowed her newspaper and pen under the bar. Planting her elbows on the polished, granite surface, she eyed him with another grin, “Sir, its 3:00am. Mr. Stark has come down here in a lot less, I can assure you. There’s no dress code here.”

He didn’t look too comforted by this, but finally stepped out from behind the wall and made his way toward the bar.

“Feel free to sit anywhere you’d like,” she said, motioning to the room behind him.

Steve glanced around at the unsurprisingly empty restaurant, his face pinched in apprehension. The space was inviting: floor to ceiling windows showed off the New York City skyline. The old, oak floor had been polished to a warm honey color, and it fit well with the exposed brick and large timber beams that decorated the walls and ceiling. Rustic wrought iron chandeliers and sconces lit the space, providing the perfect amount of illumination. Still, the vast expanse of tables and booths did nothing to set him at ease. Trying to not look as awkward as he felt, he went to the bar and slid into the seat in the very center.

The woman behind the bar put her back to him, standing on tip-toes and plucking a glass off a well-hidden shelf. She filled it with ice and water, dropped in a slice of lemon and placed the glass in front of him.

Steve finally glanced up, meeting her eyes for the first time since he crept off the elevator. 

She was a slight little thing, with shoulder-length dark auburn hair that was pulled back in a wispy French braid. Her eyes were a light hazel, which seemed more brown than green against the white of her chef’s coat. The most striking feature about her, though, wasn’t her eyes or her hair but her eyebrows. 

He hadn’t noticed at first, but the instant she turned her head to look at him, it was there. She had several distinct lines running diagonally from her right temple to the left side of her chin. One of the longer ones cleaved through her right eyebrow entirely, narrowly missed her eye and crossed the bridge of her nose. Another ran straight from her right temple, across her full cheekbone and ended near her upper lip. 

For a moment, Steve could do nothing but stare at the sunken pink and white scars, cutting ruthlessly through tanned and freckled skin, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about all the horrific things that could have caused them. 

But then, she smiled and extended a hand toward him, “I’m Annika Adams. Nice to meet you.”

Her smile was so infectious, so open and reassuring that his dread eased immediately. Clearly, she’d survived and that let him breathe a little easier. He found himself returning the smile, albeit, less brightly.

He shook with her, marveling that such small hands could have such a strong grip. “Steve Rogers,” he said, nodding his head at her. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Annika.”

———

Annika knew all about Captain Rogers, of course. 

Like the rest of the world, she was riveted by the news that he’d been found in the ice just weeks ago... with a pulse, no less. She knew that Captain Rogers was only 25 years old when he went into the ice. She knew he was a decorated war hero.

When Rogers teamed up with Tony, and Stark Tower became Avengers headquarters, most of the executive Stark Industries staff had received a dossier with basic information on their new guests. For Annika, it was things like personal preferences, food allergies and the like. 

Steve Rogers’ dossier contained scant information. Other than _no known food allergies_ , she knew next to nothing about him on a professional level.

On a personal level, she gleaned what she could from casually eavesdropping on the other Avengers that came in to eat. One morning, about a week after Steve made the tower his home base, she overheard Tony telling Pepper Potts over Eggs Benedict that Rogers was having a hard time coping with 21st century life. 

This sent her on a mission to learn as much about World War II cuisine as she could. She went to libraries, museums and antique stores looking for cookbooks, journals or anything that would give some insight. Her hope was to modernize old classics with fresh ingredients. 

And now, here he was. Maybe she would get to try a new recipe out tonight.

She tried for another disarming smile—the guy looked nervous enough to bolt—and tucked her hands in her coat pockets, “So! What can I get you tonight, Captain Rogers?”

Annika watched his face morph from mildly curious to horrified to grudging acceptance in a matter of seconds. He sighed and his head dipped toward his chest in a gesture of defeat. At that moment, he looked so tired that she could practically feel the waves of exhaustion rolling off him. “I just realized I don’t have any money.”

 _Oh, is that all_ , she thought. She gentled her smile into a reassuring expression. “That’s okay. Your money is no good here anyway. This cafe is for upper-level staff and you all. Think of it as your own private dining room. Basically, it’s free.”

He nodded slowly, still clearly overwhelmed. “Oh.”

“I don’t keep any menus in here, either. Most of the time it’s just Mr. Stark after midnight, and I already know what he likes. How about we start with what kind of mood you’re in, and I can tell you what I can prepare. Or I can choose for you, sort of a Chef’s Surprise.”

Steve blinked slowly, “What kind of mood I’m in?”

“Yeah,” she replied, sunnily. “What are you hungry for? Breakfast? Tacos? Pizza? Chinese? All of the above?”

Wide blue eyes met hers and he blurted, “How can you be so chipper this early in the morning?”

Annika laughed, “It’s in my job description. Customer service and all that. So? What would you like to eat?”

He looked overwhelmed again. “Breakfast? I guess? It’s technically morning.”

“Excellent choice,” she complimented, turning away from him to flick on the industrial cooktop behind her. “I’ve always found that I enjoy breakfast more when I eat it at dinner time anyway.” 

She tossed a glance at him over her shoulder as she worked, “What brought you down here tonight, Captain?”

He rubbed his hand through his hair, ducking his head under her scrutiny. “Just call me Steve, please.”

Turning back toward Captain Rogers—no, _Steve_ —Annika planted both elbows on the bar, cradled her chin in her right hand and stared him down. “Okay, Steve. You’re the only one I haven’t seen in here before, what brought you in tonight?”

Steve looked unnerved again by her pointed question. She would have thought it was his default expression if she hadn’t seen him punching aliens on live television.

He returned her gaze steadily. There was something about her, he thought, something open and trusting. Like he could tell her his deepest, darkest secrets and he would find nothing but an open ear and not a shred of judgment from her. Steve decided on a version of the truth. “I… Couldn’t sleep. So, I took a walk. I didn’t even know this was here.”

“Oh, I see,” she bobbed her head in understanding. “Long day?”

“You might say that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Discomfort must have shown on his face, and Annika chuckled at his look, “Don’t panic. Natasha comes down here just to chat when she’s had a rough day. Barton’s been in a couple of times to just eat Fruit Loops and leave. Everyone has their tics. Don’t feel bad.”

Knowing that his friends has sought refuge here, with Annika, made him relax. She was clearly trustworthy if Natasha confided in her. He found himself letting his guard down just a little bit. “I just… its different here. In this time.” Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his head, “I’m having a hard time keeping up.”

 _Homesick_. Annika thought immediately. 

Nodding her head in sympathy, she said, “Well, if you’d let me, I think I have a dish in mind for you. Breakfast, you said?”

“Is this like… the chef’s surprise you mentioned?”

Annika stepped toward a small sink and began washing her hands, “Sure, something like that.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, “Is that okay?”

He hesitated, and she assured him, “If you don’t like it, I will absolutely make you something else, no questions asked, no feelings hurt.”

“No, no… I’ll eat it, I don’t want to waste anything.”

“You let me worry about that,” she said, pulling a small notepad out of her pocket. Annika leaned a hip against the counter under the bar, pen poised over the paper. “Are you a sausage or bacon kind of guy?”

“Bacon,” he answered automatically. 

She grinned again, “I could have guessed. Potatoes? Fruit? Both?”

“Sure.”

“Any preferences on the fruit?”

He’d recently tried fresh tropical fruit for the first time in his life and he couldn’t get enough of it. “Papaya?” He asked, sounding hopeful for the first time all night.

“Yeah, you bet. I think we just got a case in from Maui. Pepper goes crazy for it. How about some coffee?”

He nodded, his stomach starting to growl. He didn’t even realize he was hungry. “Yes, please. Black.” 

Steve watched her face as she scribbled away on her notepad. He couldn’t stop staring at the scar that divided her eyebrow. It made her look stark and fiercely beautiful, like she’d faced something terrible and survived.

“Okay,” she said, startling him out of his thoughts, “give me just a bit.”

“Thank you!” He called after her as she vanished into the kitchen. 

———

Normally, she would have prepared coffee on the professional espresso maker Tony preferred, but sometimes, she thought, sometimes you just need a little old fashioned diner coffee. 

She crossed the commercial kitchen to a plain, white door, punched in a passcode and let herself into her apartment. She grabbed her drip coffee maker, a can of Folger’s, filters, and a loaf of store-bought white bread, locking the door behind her as she hiked back through the kitchen with her bounty.

“You’re welcome,” she replied to Steve as she set her items down on the prep bench. He didn’t seem like he was up for much talking tonight, but she could usually fill a void just fine by herself. 

“Tony is very particular about his coffee, which usually means one cup at a time and it takes forever…” She plugged in the coffee pot, stuffed a filter in the basket and dumped a good heap of grounds in. “And it’s good that way, but sometimes, you just want a damn cup of diner coffee, you know?”

She looked at him over her shoulder again and found him watching her intently.

“Yeah,” he said after a minute. 

Annika finished setting up the coffee maker and turned it on. She returned to the kitchen and prepped a half of a fresh papaya with a wedge of lime and carried it out to Steve.

“We just got these in this morning, direct from Hawaii. I was there a couple of months ago, and this was the best papaya I’ve ever tried.” She slid the plate in front of him and pulled a set of linen-wrapped silverware out of a drawer and slid it across to him. “I don’t know if you’ve tried it with the lime, but it really adds something. Just squeeze it over the top.”

She disappeared into the kitchen again before Steve could comment. This had to be the strangest meal he’d had in a long, long time. Made to order and served by a pretty chef. He unwrapped the silverware and dug in, squeezing the lime over the fruit as she suggested. It was like heaven. Sweet, tart and cold, he almost moaned from the sheer pleasure of it.

“Good, huh?” Annika reappeared carrying a package of bacon, a carton of eggs, a bowl of red potatoes and a butter dish.

“Really good,” he agreed, forcing himself to put his spoon down for just a moment. “So, are you… Do you just stay here and cook all the time?”

She began putting slices of bacon on the griddle, a pleasant sizzling sound hitting his ears. Crossing back to the sink, she washed her hands again and poured him a cup of hot coffee. “Yes and no. I work two weeks on, two weeks off… Like a slope job, but warmer.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the steaming cup. “Slope job? Is this more slang I’m not familiar with?”

“Oh, sorry. Slope is short for the North Slope, specifically the North Slope of Alaska. Oil field workers usually have rotating hitches of two weeks of straight work, and then two weeks off.” She took two slices of bread and began buttering them on both sides, checking the temperature of the griddle as she did so. He was impressed, she seemed to be everywhere at once.

“…You’re from Alaska?” Alaska had just been a territory in his time, the same with Hawaii. Apparently they were states now. Maybe he’d need to focus his attention on catching up on basic U.S. History.

“Yup, born and raised.” He watched as she pulled a biscuit cutter out of a drawer, and cut a hole in the center of the buttered bread. A moment of pure joy sang through him as he watched her, suddenly flashing back to his childhood. He knew exactly what she was making him, and it couldn’t have filled the emotional hole better. 

“Are you making Egg in a Nest?” He blurted out excitedly.

Annika glanced up at him with an amused smile, “Yes, although my mom called it Egg in an Island. But it’s the same principal. Is this okay, or would you like something else?”

“No!” He exclaimed, “No, that’s… its perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she put the bread on the griddle and cracked an egg into the center.

“How did you know?” He asked in awe, at this point just assuming she could read minds. 

“I didn’t. But I took a guess. When I learned I was going to be cooking for the Avengers, I made it a point to research where you all were from and learned some regional dishes. Natasha has requested my borscht more than once, which is really flattering, considering I don’t have a speck of Russian blood in me.”

She tossed the steamed potatoes onto the griddle next to the bacon and seasoned them. By now, the smell of the bacon had him anticipating his meal. It had been a long time since he’d been this excited about food. 

“And,” she continued, “when I learned that you’d joined the team, I went looking for some old time recipes from the World War II era. I found a great antique cookbook in Soho. But I think most of the meals I can make better by using fresh ingredients, instead of stuff like powdered eggs.”

Steve sat back in his chair and just stared at her in amazement. “Wait… you went out and bought an antique cookbook because I _might_ stumble down here at some point and ask for something to eat?”

She smirked at him, “Paid off, didn’t it?” 

He laughed. “I guess so.”

He watched as she deftly slid a spatula under the bread-and-egg combo and flipped it with ease. She set the two buttered toast rounds on the grill next to it, and Steve impulsively stated, “I think we should be friends, Annika.” 

Caught off guard by his own spontaneity, he looked down at the plate in front of him and flushed. _Why did I just say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

She turned to him, spatula in hand, smiling broadly. “I’d like that, Steve.”

Still blushing, he grinned back at her, suddenly not feeling quite so sorry for himself. “Alaska… how did you wind up out here in New York?” He set to work finishing off the papaya.

“Tony,” she said with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes skyward. She grabbed a plate from a warming drawer and started pulling things off the grill as she talked. “I can’t remember if it was his first or second Iron Man suit he was testing, but apparently he was having problems with ice. He wanted to see how it’d fare in Arctic temperatures, so he flew up, brought the suit and did his thing.”

Annika quickly shoveled the egg-toast onto the plate, along with the little buttered toast rounds. She added four slices of bacon, a heaping pile of potatoes and crossed to the refrigerator for some garnish. She rounded out the plate with fresh tomato slices. “But, as he was going for a test run, one of his repulsers went out and he crash landed in the water near the fishing boat I was cooking on in Kodiak. The guys pulled him out of the water and sent him downstairs to me to get warmed up. I made some soup or something, and he said, ‘I’ll give you a $75,000 check when we get back to the dock if you come to New York to cook for me.’”

Grabbing the coffee pot and the plate, she placed Steve’s breakfast in front of him while topping up his coffee at the same time, a model of efficiency. “So I asked him if he’d ship my Jeep too, he said ‘Why not?’ And here I am. That was two years ago, I think.”

She set the plate down and looked at him expectantly.

Steve could only stare at the food; the smell of crispy bacon and buttery toast wafting toward him. He tried desperately to remember the last time he’d had a meal like this, that someone had _made_ for him that didn’t come from a box, or a tin of Army rations, or slopped onto a tray at the SHIELD building. It had to be before his mother died. Maybe Bucky’s mother had cooked something for him? It was so long ago—it felt like it had happened in a different lifetime, to a different Steve Rogers.

He’d been staring at his plate for so long, Annika worried she’d forgotten something, or perhaps she’d cooked the eggs a little too long.

She set the coffee pot down on the counter, concern creasing her forehead. “Is everything okay, Steve?”

Slowly, he looked up at her, his voice thick, “Yeah… I was just trying to remember the last time someone had cooked for me. It’s…” 

It’s been a long time. Thank you… Very much, it looks delicious.” 

The tone of his voice made her breath catch in her chest and her own eyes watered in sympathy. This poor guy. She couldn’t imagine going to sleep for seventy years and waking up with everything different and all her loved ones dead. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.

“You’re welcome,” she cleared her throat, trying not to make it look like she was close to tears, “Want anything else to go with it?”

“Just more embarrassing stories about Tony,” Steve said with a slight grin.

She laughed, and took away the plate that had the papaya on it, putting it in the bussing tub under the bar. She grabbed a mug and poured herself a cup of coffee, adding a little heavy cream from the fridge. “Well, one time, he came in here so drunk; he thought he was in the lobby of a Taco Bell. He kept screaming ‘CHALUPA!’ at me. I laughed for days. When I want to piss him off, I call him King Chalupa.”

Steve laughed and dug into his meal. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night, or that he didn’t have any idea what a Chalupa was, he felt good. Like he made a connection, in an odd private café, with a quirky chef from the Arctic. 

She slid her coffee across the counter and came out to sit directly beside him at the bar, regaling him with stories about life in Alaska. She pulled out her phone and showed him pictures of her proudly hefting a 50-pound King salmon she’d caught using only a net— _dip netting_ , she called it. There were photos of shiny white humps breaking the surface of glass-like water in a bay surrounded by mountains. She explained they were Beluga whales. 

Annika always made sure to include him in the conversation as well, asking questions about the food he’d had during his childhood, what rationing was like during the war and listening with wide eyes as he described what exactly one would have to do to get a steak during war time. Never once did she make him feel awkward or out of place. For the first time in the nearly three weeks since he’d been awake, he felt accepted.

Suddenly, her cell phone made a shrill noise and she jumped. “Holy crap, is it six already?” Neither of them had even noticed the sun starting to crest over the horizon. 

“It’s six o’clock?” He asked in surprise. It hadn’t felt like any time had passed at all. 

“Apparently so,” Annika answered, peering out the window over Steve’s shoulder. “I should probably start the clean-up. Shift switch is at eight.”

He was suddenly feeling lost at the thought of ending their conversation. “Do you… uh… do you always work nights?”

She smiled at him, “Usually, yeah.”

“Why?”

Her face darkened for a brief moment before she answered, shrugging, “Well, for starters, Tony’s a bit of a night owl, and none of the other chefs want to deal with him. But, I’m a bit of a midnight oil burner myself, so it all works out.”

Steve stood, brushing invisible crumbs from his sweatpants and trying to sound casual, “Are you… uh, are you here every night?”

Annika hopped nimbly from her chair, gathering their coffee cups and various dishes as she went. “Most of the time. I work all this week until Friday, then I have a week off, and I’m back on for two weeks.”

“That sounds like a lot to remember,” he noted dryly, mentally trying to rearrange his sleeping schedule.

“Eh,” she shrugged, placing the dishes in the bussing tub, “You get used to it.”

Steve watched her flittering around behind the bar for a moment. Now that the light coming through the windows was natural, he was able to see more of her features. Her eyes were so brilliantly hazel, he wondered briefly if she was wearing those colored contact lenses he’d seen in Natasha’s disguise case.

He noticed the distinct smoothness of her left cheek, compared to the uneven surface of her right; the enigmatic scar that cut through her eyebrow. It gave her character, making him think that she had a story to tell, and he couldn’t wait to hear it. A warm curl of pleasure unwound in his stomach as he contemplated her. He decided then that it was probably well past time for him to go. 

Sliding his chair back in, he gave her a shy smile, “I supposed I should go… let you get back to work.”

Annika turned to look at him over her shoulder, her hands soapy from where she was washing out the coffee pot in the sink. 

She returned his smile. “I _have_ been working, Steve. This is my job.”

Somehow, the way she said it, it wasn’t a dismissal. This was her job, and she was good at it. She was personable and smart and a hell of a cook. And frankly, she wasn’t too hard on the eyes, either. 

A wave of tiredness hit him just as the sun’s first rays pierced the room and he briefly swayed on his feet. “Thank you, Annika.”

She turned to face him, drying her hands on a towel. “You’re welcome. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

His heart soared. “I won’t. Have a good day. Night?” 

Annika laughed as he walked away, “You too, Steve.”

Steve walked to the elevator feeling happier and lighter than he had in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annika does some thinking and Jarvis is a good bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I grovel before the greatness of my beta, the lovely [DanceLikeAnArchitect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceLikeAnArchitect/profile).

Annika stared at the elevator doors for a long while after Steve had left.

She leaned against the bar, arms crossed over her chest, her face set in a contemplative frown. Steve Rogers was a far different man than what she’d expected. The news painted him as a great American war hero, borderline superhuman, far above everyone else. He was strong, fast and capable. A natural-born leader. An expert strategist. An icy phoenix that rose from the wreckage of Hydra to lead the Avengers in the first interplanetary war the earth had ever faced.

And yet, she wondered. Had anyone taken the time to ask if the dude was okay? Did he have someone to talk to? Was he sleeping at night? Or did they thaw him out and throw him right back into the first war that just happened by?

Judging by the sullen, anxious man she’d met a few hours ago, she had to guess that the answer was no. 

Her jaw clenched. Annika Adams knew a thing or two about being an outcast. 

Not that she thought Steve Rogers was an outcast, or anything close to it. But he had that air about him; sadness and despair seemed to cling to him, lending to the notion that he was an outsider. That he didn’t belong. The thought that Steve might have felt like that troubled her greatly. 

Steve seemed like an incredibly sweet man, with the impeccable manners of someone very old-fashioned. It was charming, and she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t think it was completely adorable. Someone like Steve didn’t deserve to feel like an outcast. 

Pushing herself away from the bar, she forced herself through the motions of work. She wiped down the prep surfaces and the grill, and lugged the bussing tub into the kitchen for the dishwashers to sort later. She washed her hands and set about preparing a boxed lunch for her supervisor, Pepper Potts, who was scheduled to be on conference calls for most of the day.

Her mind returned to Steve Rogers as she chopped, diced and packed food. He said he was having trouble keeping up and she wondered what exactly he’d meant by that. Just keeping up with the times? Or _catching_ up on things? She tried to picture herself in his place, seventy years in the future, waking up in the year 2082. How on earth would she cope? Would communication be the same? Food? Transportation? How would she make friends? There would be a good possibility that everyone she ever loved could be gone.

Just thinking that alone gave her pause as she stacked the filled containers into a small, portable cooler. She took a moment to marvel at Steve. Annika would probably be going out of her mind with grief and fear. The fact that he was out and about and talking to people was amazing. He was clearly a lot more resilient than she would be in the same situation. 

Plus, Steve said he wanted them to be friends, and something like hope sparked hot in her chest. Friends were in short supply for her these days.

As she zipped up the cooler and slung it over her shoulder, she decided she needed to ask Pepper a few questions.

———

As she rapped her knuckles against her boss’s door, Annika was thankful that Pepper was an early riser. By this time in the morning, she’d already been up at least two hours, hit the gym and was probably catching up on emails. The more she thought about Steve and his situation, the more anxious she became. She wanted answers and she wanted them right now.

“Come in!” Pepper called.

Annika opened the door and stepped inside, “Morning, Pepper.”

As she predicted, her boss was sitting behind her desk, tablet in hand, still in her work-out gear. Pepper’s smile was bright, but the dark circles under her eyes told another tale. “Good morning, Annika. How was your evening?”

Just like that, Annika had the perfect opening. “It was… unusual,” she said, unzipping the cooler and handing the glass bento containers to Pepper. “Today is curried chicken salad on those baby greens you like, with quinoa instead of rice and some of the fresh Hawaiian papaya. There’s a hardboiled egg and spinach protein pack for your post-workout snack.”

“Ooh!” Pepper crooned, as she reached to take the containers. “Thank you! And what do you mean, _unusual_?” 

“Well, you might have some competition for that papaya now.”

“Is Tony finally eating his fruits and veggies?” Pepper asked with a bemused smile. 

“No, Captain Rogers came in for the first time last night,” Annika said.

Pepper’s eyebrows rose, her surprise evident. “He _did_? Wow.”

Without an invitation, Annika plopped herself into the soft, white leather chair in front of her boss’s desk. “Pepper, can I ask you something?” 

Placing her tablet on the desk, she gave Annika her full attention. “Of course you can. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah _I’m_ fine…” Annika fiddled with the end of her braid, untying it and retying it, unsure how to phrase what she was trying to say. “Do you think… well… Steve—I mean, Captain Rogers. Is… is he _okay_?”

“What do you mean?” Pepper’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Annika gave a half-shrug. “I don’t know, he just seemed… sad. I guess. Lonely. Depressed, maybe? I felt really bad for him. I was wondering—and this is totally stupid—but, are the others nice to him?”

Pepper smiled at her inquiry, “I know he and Tony don’t see eye to eye sometimes, and from what I’ve seen, everyone is nice to him, but… they don’t reach out. To be fair, neither does Steve. I think there’s a disconnect there. They don’t understand Steve’s plight, and Steve is trying desperately to understand the 21st century. I think he’s having a harder time than he wants to admit.”

Annika nodded, “I got that vibe last night. He got a little emotional about me cooking for him… said no one had done so since his mother died.”

Pepper looked horrified, “God, that had to be, what? Eighty years ago? Albeit, he was frozen most of that time, but _still_ … Poor thing. What did you make him?”

Annika tilted her chin toward Pepper’s desk, “Gave him some of your papaya, which he inhaled by the way, hence, the competition. Then I busted out an old wartime breakfast dish with a few tweaks.”

Pepper grinned slyly, “No wonder he got emotional. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“You know me… go big, or go home.” Annika leaned back in her chair and folded her hands across her stomach, looking nonchalant, but feeling nervous. “Anyway, is there anything I can do for him, you think? A couple of times last night I felt compelled to explain my references, but I was afraid I would insult him.”

“You know,” Pepper said, “I don’t know him very well, but I get the sense that he would probably appreciate it. No one really takes the time to do that, and I know sometimes Tony purposefully uses pop culture references without explanation and that bugs Steve. It must be like waking up in a foreign country with no idea of how you got there, and no one speaks your language.”

Annika sighed, “Yeah, that was my thought too. Thanks for the insight.”

“Of course.” When Annika didn’t make a move to leave, Pepper asked, “Anything else on your mind?”

“Yeah, actually what’s the status on the Stark Gala? If it’s happening, I need to start menu planning and getting supplies on hand.”

Pepper reached for her tablet. “I think it’s still a go. I need to get confirmation from Tony on a solid date, but as far as I know it’s a yes. Why don’t you go ahead and start planning a menu, just in case? We don’t want to be caught off guard.” She pressed a few buttons on her tablet, reviewing the schedule. “It was tentatively set for June 16th, but we paused after the attacks. I’ll talk to Tony.” 

“Sounds good; any theme this year?”

Pepper scrolled through her notes, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “Well, this year’s gala is going to benefit all the survivors of the battle, and we discussed a lot of invitations being extended to those families. That being said, I think people would expect something… a _little_ fancy. Given that it’s Stark and all.”

Annika stood, brushing off her pants. “I’ll browse the menus from the past couple of years, and see what I can do. I’ll try to have it put together by the end of tomorrow.”

“Thanks Annika, you’re a life saver. And…” Pepper looked at her with soft eyes, “You’re a very good person.”

Annika ducked her head, “Nah, I just understand how he feels. Talk to you later.” Cheeks burning, she darted out of the room before Pepper could utter another word.

———

At ten minutes to midnight, Steve stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair was perfectly combed, he’d shaved and tonight he was wearing actual clothes instead of sweatpants. He adjusted the collar of his shirt for the third time in as many minutes. It felt constricting no matter how many buttons he’d loosened. 

He looked up at his own reflection again. _What the hell are you thinking, Rogers?_

He couldn’t go down there again tonight, could he? He’d stayed up half the night just talking to her yesterday. Annika was a busy woman with an important job. She didn’t have time to deal with him moping after her like a lovesick schoolboy with his first crush. He was being ridiculous. He should probably just go to bed and forget about the whole endeavor. 

Although, he _did_ skip dinner specifically so he could go downstairs when she came on shift…

A frustrated noise left him and he stalked out of the bathroom, slamming his hand against the light switch much harder than was necessary. He stared out the living room window at the lights of the city, his jaw set in agitation. 

He was torn. Part of him ached to see her again, to just have the balm of her presence nearby. She seemed to understand and acknowledge what he was going through, even if he couldn’t articulate it himself. Another part of him cringed at the thought of it all. It was desperation and loneliness, pure and simple. People didn’t see him as anything more than a weapon. And Annika probably didn’t see him as anything but a customer she had to feed.

Steve ran his hands over his eyes with a sigh. Seventy years later and he was still had no idea how to talk to a woman. What would Bucky say?

The sharp sting of grief and longing seized him, squeezing the air out of his lungs as emotion hit him like a tidal wave. That feeling was enough to propel him away from the window and toward the door. In the weeks that he’d been awake, all he’d felt was sadness and remorse and he was damned well sick of it. Last night, Annika made him feel accepted, like he was a person, instead of a thawed out experiment. A relic.

For the first time in weeks, he’d felt _happy_.

“Jarvis?” He called.

The voice replied immediately, “Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Is… Is Chef Annika working yet?”

“Chef Adams is approximately three minutes and seventeen seconds late for her shift on average, Captain. She should be available in another one minute and twenty seconds.”

Steve grinned at this. Somehow the fact that she was always late for work was very endearing. “Okay. Don’t tell her I’m coming.”

“I understand, Captain.”

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve started toward the door with renewed determination, when Jarvis spoke up again: “Chef Adams’ favorite color is green, sir.”

He stopped and looked at the ceiling, bewildered. “What?”

“Have a good evening, Captain Rogers.”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together as he glanced down at himself. He was wearing a blue and white button down and Jarvis’ words finally clicked.

Cheeks burning and a stupid grin on his face, he dashed back to his room, trying to unbutton his shirt with one hand and pawing through the wardrobe with another. Eventually, his fingers closed around a forest green Henley that still had the tags on it. He stripped off the button down, throwing it carelessly across the room. 

He removed the tags and pulled the Henley on, crossing the room again to study his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The shirt was a little tighter than he was used to—which was saying something, considering his uniform was basically skin tight—and he felt completely out of his element. But… If Annika liked green.

Still staring at himself, he impulsively reached up and messed up his hair, leaving the short, blonde strands sticking straight up. He blinked at the man staring back at him. The style of the shirt was more modern than he was used to, but somehow, it worked. He nodded at himself, was pleased with the result. 

Steve busied himself for another ten minutes, using his phone to look up current news articles so they would have something to talk about. At 12:25, he made his way to the elevator, butterflies churning in his stomach.

———

By the time Annika left Pepper’s office that morning and completed her end-of-shift duties, like ordering the fresh fish and produce deliveries for the day, and she finally made it back upstairs to her apartment, she was exhausted, yet sleep eluded her.

She’d tossed and turned, her thoughts drifting aimlessly. Half-formed nightmares of the accident that always seemed to be lurking in the corners of her mind followed her in and out of wakefulness. Annika had woken up at some point, thrashing, trying to free herself of the hospital bed restraints that held her down, only to realize she was safe and sound in her own bed.

Unsettled, she wasn’t very successful at going back to sleep. She’d lain there, staring at the ceiling, trying very hard not to let her thoughts creep back toward Captain Rogers. She hadn’t been successful at that, either.

There was something about Steve that intrigued her. Of course, the novelty of his history was fascinating, but it was deeper than that. There was an overwhelming sense of loneliness and grief that seemed to cling to him like a shadow, but underneath that, there was a feeling of newness. Everything was new to him, _everything_ … and seeing the world the way he did didn't make living in it seem like such a burden.

Her own struggles with depression made her empathetic to his plight, and just how out of place he must be feeling nearly seventy years later. Seven decades of history had passed him by. Wars had been fought and won. Empires built and destroyed. Entire cultures had changed and here was Steve, the same exact person he’d been all those years ago.

The longer she thought about him, the more she wanted to help him. The answer finally came to her around noontime. A _list!_ Annika was a list person through and through, loving the structure and organization that could be found in a well-thought out to-do list. Maybe that could help Steve. Half asleep, she’d stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, opening a drawer and rummaging around inside. After a few moments, she’d found her prize. A new, pocket-sized red Moleskin notebook. She smiled slightly as she placed it on the kitchen counter. Next time she saw Steve, she would give it to him. Satisfied, she climbed back in bed. Sleep eventually claimed her, but it wasn’t a restful one. 

Her thoughts were on Steve Rogers again as soon as she opened her eyes. Begrudgingly, she rolled out of bed to begin another day— _night_ —at Stark’s 24-hour-diner. Of course, thinking about Steve led her down another path that Annika had a difficult time steering clear of as well… and that was how the world saw _her_ and, ultimately, how she saw herself. 

There were no mirrors in Annika Adams’ apartment.

In fact, there weren’t many reflective surfaces in her space, period. No glass tabletops, stainless steel appliances or picture frames without anti-reflective coating. She didn’t even own a compact with a mirror. Not that she ever bothered to put on make-up anymore. 

After the accident, Annika found that relearning nearly every aspect of her life was far easier than looking at her reflection. The _no mirror_ rule had been a hard adjustment at first, but she’d grown accustom to it. She flossed religiously after every meal so she could be sure there was never anything in her teeth. She’d learned simple hairstyles that she could attempt with her eyes closed and kept with those. She wore a uniform to work, so she never had to worry about whether or not her clothing was complimentary.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure that if her therapist ever saw her living space, and her lack of polished surfaces, he’d send her straight to the psych ward.

She contemplated this as she stood barefoot and partially naked in her bathroom, half-heartedly brushing her teeth as she struggled to wake up. It was 11:50pm, a scant ten minutes away from her midnight shift. She shook her head, throwing her toothbrush back into the cup and quickly braiding her hair. She was ridiculous. Someone like Steve wouldn’t look twice at her, let alone _actually_ want to be friends or be seen out in public with her. It was probably a one-off that he’d come into the cafe in the first place.

She dressed quickly, trying to escape her toxic thoughts. Steve was a customer. Nothing more. She would do her job, and that was it. If he came back in, she would feed him and send him on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a line! I always love to hear from my readers. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Annika are both bumbling cinnamon rolls and I love them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [DanceLikeAnArchitect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceLikeAnArchitect/profile) is amazeballs for the beta.

The shift exchange had gone smoothly, with Annika only being three minutes late this time. The afternoon chef had clocked out for the evening and it was eerily silent on the 77th floor of Stark Tower. Another evening alone. 

Usually she relished a quiet evening, the calm energy of the city recharging her soul in a way she couldn’t aptly put into words. The world was asleep, but she was awake. It gave her an odd thrill. But that feeling was far away tonight. Her dreams and thoughts had unsettled her, pushing her toward a dark place full of self loathing that she didn’t want to slide back into. She had enough confidence issues as it was, she didn’t need to add fuel to the fire.

With a sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. She willed away the exhaustion that seemed to cling to her like a shroud. After a moment, when she had a better grasp of her tumultuous thoughts, she set about her nightly routine. 

Reaching under the bar, she grabbed a classic round tray. She was part chef, part waitress here, but she found she didn’t mind. The monotony of some tasks kept her hands busy and her brain silent. She forced her mind to the Stark Gala menus she’d promised Pepper that morning. The word _fancy_ was mentioned, which translated into _expensive_. That meant champagne, caviar, fresh seafood, decadent desserts…

She crossed the room, to the furthest table away from the bar, and started gathering up the salt and pepper shakers to refill them. Annika mentally went into list mode as she flittered from table to table. She’d need to reach out to local suppliers first, and then her contact at Trident Seafoods in Dutch Harbor to call dibs on the freshest salmon and crab. She’d need to worry about a vegan _and_ a vegetarian option, and since families were being invited, a children’s menu as well. Of course, she had to think about allergy friendly and gluten free meal options-… 

Picking up the half-full tray, she turned on her heel toward the next batch of tables when a soft voice piped up from her left, “Hello Annika.”

The scream that burst from her was involuntary, as was the way she jerked in surprise, jostling the tray and sending salt and pepper shakers scattering all across the floor around her feet. Annika whirled toward the voice to find Steve Rogers staring at her with wide eyes and a mortified expression.

_Oh my God_. She felt all the blood rush to her face and she wished she could crawl under a table and die of embarrassment. She wasn’t expecting to see him again so soon, if at all. And naturally, what does she do? Scream like an idiot and drop everything she was holding. She was an absolute wreck of a human being.

Time seemed to flow like treacle and they both stood there, staring at each other for a long, awkward minute. Finally, Steve lurched forward, exclaiming, “I’m so sorry!”

It took Annika a moment to find her voice, and when she did, she was horrified that it was shaking. “Yeah-… no, it’s-… it’s okay.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, feeling her face blazing, and she dropped to her knees to pick up the scattered shakers.

Steve seemed finally able to move his limbs, and he rushed to her side, kneeling beside her to help her gather up the containers. 

“It’s okay,” she protested, still keeping her eyes firmly on floor, “I can get it.”

“No, no, it’s my fault-…” He murmured.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Concern creased his brow and that made her blush harder. Simultaneously, they both reached for the same pepper shaker. Steve got there first, closing long fingers around it. Annika was a second behind, her hand settling over the back of his and squeezing involuntarily. Steve froze next to her.

Warmth slithered through her at the touch of his skin, something slow and meandering, that gradually picked up speed. Like the pleasant burn of a good whiskey on a cold winter’s day. The kind that made you glow from the inside out. She blinked down at their joined hands, surprised. Annika was suddenly hyper aware of the softness of the back of his hand, contrasting the ridged peaks of his knuckles. There was a thin, pale white line that slid between two of the joints on his hand. _A scar._

There was something about the fact that he also had scars on the outside that made her heart leap.

With a gasp, Annika snatched her hand away, cheeks flaming. She was slightly disgusted with herself for getting all hot and bothered because _she touched Captain America’s hand!_ She was no better than the desperate fangirls that would gather in front of Stark Tower most mornings.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, sitting back on her heels. She rubbed her hand over her eyes tiredly, “I had a nightmare. I’m still trying to shake it. Usually Jarvis tells me when someone is coming up.”

“I asked him not to tell you I was coming,” Steve replied softly, matching her tone. “I’m sorry.” He reached out and took the hand that was in her lap, just holding it. The same heat spread up her right arm and she wondered if he could feel it too. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her breath left her in a disbelieving huff and she finally looked up at him. Earnest blue eyes met hers and she was struck with the sense that he really, truly cared about the answer. Her heart felt a little lighter at that. “No,” Annika said at last. “But thank you for asking.”

Steve squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “I’m here if you change your mind, okay? Is there anything I can do?”

She had to look down so he wouldn’t see the shimmer in her eyes, “Yeah. You can let me feed you.”

———

Steve felt like such an idiot.

She worked up here, all by herself in the middle of the night and he snuck up on her. He helped her pick up the rest of the salt and pepper shakers, and insisted on carrying them back to the bar for her. It was the least he could do for giving her such a fright. She quietly took the tray into the kitchen while he settled himself on the same seat he’d favored the night before. 

Annika returned, wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and his heart sank even more. “I really am sorry,” he apologized again, “I assumed you could hear the elevator.”

“It’s okay, I promise. I was too deep in my head anyway. I’m trying to plan a menu for the Stark Gala. It’s in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh?” He asked, crossing his forearms and leaning onto the bar. “What’s that?”

“It’s basically just Stark’s excuse to spend a bunch of money to throw a fancy ass party.” She gave him a little grin and it seemed more sincere than a moment before. “But, I don’t want to talk about all that right now. You’re much earlier than last night,” she noted. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning. “Um. No.” He couldn’t tell her that he hadn’t even tried to sleep. That he’d been changing his clothes and fretting about it right up until he walked out of the door. He settled for a version of the truth. “I just… had a long day. Couldn’t really wind down. Thought I would come say hi.”

Her smile was genuine this time, and it lit up her face, her eyes sparkling. “Hi.”

Slowly, he returned her grin. “… I’m also pretty hungry,” he admitted sheepishly.

At this, Annika threw her head back and laughed, surprising him with both the force and the sound. Something in his chest rattled around pleasantly. He’d made a beautiful woman laugh. _Maybe he wasn’t so bad with dames after all?_

“Of course you are,” she chuckled, turning to flip the cooktop on, “How many calories do you have to pack in during the day?”

Steve shrugged, “I don’t know. A lot. Dr. Erskine told me that my metabolism burns four times faster than a normal person’s.” 

Annika stared at him, looking slightly appalled, “Jesus. Aren’t you… like, do you ever get tired of eating?” 

He nodded in an absentminded sort of way, “Yeah. Sometimes. After it…” He had to swallow around a lump in his throat, “Um, right after it happened… when I finally got a chance to sit down, I was so hungry that I was in tears.” He didn’t want to mention that he was in tears for a lot of other reasons, too.

Why was he telling her all this? He wondered. For the second night in a row, he was in a damn restaurant, baring his soul to a perfect stranger. But, Annika didn’t feel like a stranger, that was the odd bit. 

“What was it like?” She asked, softly.

Steve looked up to find her watching him, something in her eyes urging him to keep talking, even when every fiber of his being told him to stop. “The first week was the worst.”

“The week after you… changed?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him again for another long moment, before she turned to the shiny espresso machine on a counter behind her and flipped a couple of switches. “Ever had a latte?”

His brow furrowed, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me about your first week while I make us one?”

He was taken aback, surprised she’d want to hear about it at all. He’d been thoroughly interrogated about the procedure, after it happened, and subjected to a horribly invasive physical that still made him cringe, but he’d never been asked these types of thoughtful, philosophical questions before. 

Annika reached into the fridge under the bar, pulling out a plastic jug of milk, before turning to a high shelf and pulling down two large cups and saucers. She noted the sudden silence and glanced at him over her shoulder, “Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, too.”

He licked his lips, turning his eyes back to the smooth granite of the bar and giving her a little shrug, “No… it’s okay, just… no one has ever asked me about that before.”

She worked in silence, setting the coffee cups on the counter, grinding the coffee and steaming milk. The hiss of the steam was too loud to talk over, so he watched her movements as he gathered his thoughts. She poured the espresso into the cups, then the milk, and scooped out some foam to layer on the top. It seemed very fussy for just a cup of coffee. 

Finished with the drink, she put the pitcher and spoon into the sink and slid the cup over to him. He looked down at the little leaf-like design in the milk foam and asked with a smile, “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Hmm…” she tapped her chin and pretended to think, “I can’t dance… can’t bake a soufflé to save my life.” She took a sip of her coffee and grinned at him over the rim of her cup. “So, besides being so hungry, what was the worst part of it?”

Steve took a sip of his drink, finding it surprisingly mild and flavorful. “The pain,” he finally said.

Annika’s eyebrows shot up, “From the procedure, or…?”

He paused, trying to explain the feeling. “Imagine all the growing pains you’ve ever had as a kid, all at once. Everything ached. My knees, my feet, my hands. Even my ears seemed to hurt. It was like I’d been stretched in every direction.”

“Well,” she said gently, “I bet you _were_ a bit taller. Are you in pain now?” He was flattered that she sounded so concerned.

“No… it went away within a few days. They said it was normal. New muscle and bone growth.”

He watched as small hands cradled her coffee cup and she sipped slowly, peering at him over the rim of the mug. “What was the best thing from that week?” She asked, “Like… after you changed? What was the one thing you physically had that you were really thankful for?”

Steve sat back in his chair, making no attempt to hide that he was staring at her. Annika took another sip, meeting his gaze and raised her eyebrow in question. Or maybe it was a challenge. He honestly wondered for a moment if she was a figment of his imagination. Maybe he was still in the ice, and she was some sort of fever dream? 

He bought himself a moment, under the guise of nursing his own cup of coffee while he considered her inquiry. “Breathing,” he finally answered. “I had lung problems my whole life, asthma and stuff. When I… when the procedure was finished, I took a deep breath… because it hurt, you know?” He chuckled ruefully, fiddling with the handle of the mug before he continued. “Anyway. I took a breath, and usually I had to take more, _so much more_ , but in that first breath, there was so much oxygen that it made me sort of black out a little bit.” 

Annika grinned at him. “Damn. I was _not_ expecting breathing. I was going to guess opening pickle jars, but breathing is good too.”

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him, “Well, I mean, pickles are pretty important. A pastrami sandwich ain’t the same without a pickle.”

She giggled into her coffee, eyes alight; sparkling with mischief, and Steve realized at that moment that he’d indeed made a friend. And maybe— _just maybe_ —if he was very, very lucky, there was a path there for something more. A comfortable silence settled over them, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?” Annika said at last.

“Anything.” He surprised himself with the assuredness of his statement.

“What do you want to eat?”

Steve laughed again, completely delighted by her. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Hmm…” She finished the dregs of her coffee and pinned him with a stare that made his insides squirm. “Well, the dinner specials for the evening were pasta primavera or roast pork loin.”

Neither of those choices sounded the least bit appetizing to him. He waggled his hand in a _so-so_ motion. “Ehh…”

“No? I didn’t think so…” Annika rolled her eyes to the ceiling, scrunching her forehead in thought, obviously paging through a mental cookbook. 

“I’d be okay with breakfast again,” he said brightly, trying to act like he wasn’t angling for it this whole time.

“Sweet or savory?”

“Sweet!” He replied immediately, excited at the prospect of another meal with her. “Maybe… maybe with more papaya? I’ve never had tropical stuff before this. Things like that were hard to get in the war.”

Annika’s face lit up with inspiration. She gave him a crooked smirk, her severed eyebrow quirking in a suggestive manner. “Has the tropical fruit been doing it for you then?”

Steve could feel hot blood rushing to his face, painting his cheekbones red. His mouth went dry and his stomach clenched as a wave of pure, unadulterated desire crashed into him, sparking every single nerve ending into life. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. 

_Good lord_ , he thought, blinking slowly, _is she flirting with me?_

Steve grasped for an answer to her question, slightly breathless as the wave receded. “Uh. Yeah. Yes. It’s been... um. Doing it for me.”

Annika’s expression was impish, like she knew _exactly_ what she’d just done to him. “Do you trust me?” She asked.

Again, the answer sprang forth without hesitation, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Annika put her coffee mug on the counter and smiled brightly at him, the vixen he’d witnessed a moment before gone without a trace. “Be right back.”

She turned toward the kitchen doors and Steve found he was loathe to let her leave so quickly. “Uh, anything I can do to help?”

Annika’s her lips quirked into a smile, “Nope, I’ll be back out in a minute.”

Steve sat there for a long moment, listening to her rummaging around in the kitchen beyond and mumbling to herself. He ran a hand over his face, suddenly feeling out of sorts. Lingering tendrils of desire still clung to him, warring with the simple, child-like excitement he was feeling over the prospect of a good meal. He reminded himself, yet again, that the way he acted around Annika was ridiculous. 

But… then again, maybe he wasn’t. _Had_ she been flirting with him a minute ago? 

After his change, he suddenly had more female attention than he knew what to do with, but he wasn’t exactly the best at interpreting the subtle cues women often used. That took Howard Stark levels of practice, something that Steve had never had when he was a young man. He was still mulling over his plight when Annika returned, arms loaded with the various items she’d need to make his breakfast.

“See, I could have helped!” He chuckled, motioning toward the items she was unloading on the counter, “I could have been your pack mule.”

Annika laughed, shooting him a pointed look. “I’ll remember that the next time I need to bring up stuff from storage downstairs.”

“Call me anytime,” he replied seriously.

Her eyes shifted and met his, and there was something intense in her expression that he knew he wasn’t imagining. It was almost like she was sizing him up, asking him silently if she could believe him. Steve inclined his head, a slight nod that conveyed, _Yes, you can._

Whatever silent moment that passed between them ended and she smiled at him, a warm, caring, genuine smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Bacon or sausage?” She asked.

“Ham,” he countered.

“Ooh, changing it up on me, Rogers?”

He shrugged, “I figured if Tony’s not up here, someone has to keep you on your toes.”

“Ha!” Annika laughed as she broke three eggs into a bowl, “I think you’re confusing me with Pepper Potts. Tony is a surprisingly picky eater, so he’s very predictable.”

“He is?” Steve’s brow creased, “He doesn’t seem the type.” Now that he thought about it, he realized he didn’t know Tony very well at all. After the battle a sort of truce had been called between them, but it didn’t go much further than that.

He watched as Annika eyeballed milk into the dish with the eggs and added something that smelled like vanilla. “What’s on the menu, Chef?”

She grinned up at him, “Banana macadamia nut French toast, with a side of coconut syrup. And papaya. You can have all the tropical things in one dish.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he contemplated asking her to marry him right then and there. “Wow, it sounds amazing.”

“I _am_ pretty awesome,” she agreed with a sassy smile.

Steve laughed again, propping his elbows on the bar and resting his cheek against his fist as he watched her cook. A comfortable silence fell over them as she worked and he found his thoughts circling back to _Before_ , and his friends that were long gone. He wished Bucky was there, to help him sort out the mess he was making with Annika. To help him decode whether or not she was flirting with him. But, then again, knowing Bucky’s fondest for the opposite sex, Steve might have had a fight on his hands. 

“Bucky would have liked you,” he blurted, his thoughts escaping his head entirely. “He would say you’re full of moxie.”

Annika glanced up at him as she dunked thick slices of bread into the egg mixture. A few tendrils of hair had escaped her ponytail, framing her face. She gave him a soft smile, “Who is Bucky?”

Steve’s heart constricted painfully, the loss still so fresh for him. He had no idea why he said any of that out loud. “He’s my-… he _was_ my best friend.” He licked his lips and swallowed thickly.

She picked up on his tone instantly. “Oh… I’m so sorry. Did you… lose him in the war? Or… more recently?”

_Tactful._ He thought. “Both? I guess. In the war, but it feels pretty recent. To me, anyway.”

Annika nodded as she turned to put the French toast on the grill, “I completely understand. Either way, I’m so sorry you lost him.”

His throat felt tight, his words strangled. “Thank you. It was… it was a long time ago. I just… I wish I’d gotten to say goodbye. It happened so quickly.”

Minutes went by, Steve completely lost in though, so much so that he was surprised when Annika slid the plate in front of him with a fresh cup of coffee. Everything looked and smelled amazing. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, looking up at her.

The expression on her face was intense and she reached across the counter to grasp his hand, her palm sliding against his. “Steve, I just want you to know… I’m really glad you came back again.”

He stared down at her small hand as it gripped his, his eyes drifting back toward her face as heat bloomed in his cheeks once again. Steve offered her a small, crooked smile. “Yeah, me too.”

She squeezed his fingers briefly before releasing him. She gathered up the remaining ingredients on the counter, turning back toward the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, “Oh, by the way, I really like your shirt. It’s a great color on you.”

Damn, he wished he could buy Jarvis a beer.

———

After she watched him nod off at the counter twice, Annika finally ushered Steve toward the elevator around 3:00am. It was obvious that he’d stayed up past his normal bedtime to come down here to eat. She refused to let herself consider that Steve had come because he enjoyed her company. He was there because he enjoyed her cooking. It couldn’t have been anything but that.

Once he’d gone and the restaurant was quiet once again, she tried to direct her thoughts back toward planning the Stark Gala, but Steve’s devastated expression when he was talking about his friend kept slipping it’s way into her head. He clearly had never had any time to grieve his friend’s death, let alone process it properly. 

Pulling out her phone, she decided to break a personal rule and Googled an Avenger. She searched Captain America + “Bucky” and stumbled on a gold mine. There were dozens of articles, Wiki pages and history buff fan sites devoted to detailing the Howling Commandos missions against Hydra, and Steve’s right-hand man, James “Bucky” Barnes. 

A few more searches and she found what she was looking for. She pocketed the phone and thought hard about the possible ramifications of what she was about to do. Best case scenario, Steve would feel better. Worst case scenario, he’d never speak to her again.

She had a deep, down gut feeling that Steve needed a firm push toward the side of healing. And this would be the first step for that.

“Jarvis?” She called.

“Yes, Chef Adams?”

Annika took a deep breath, “Will you please send Captain Rogers a message and ask if he’d like to join me for coffee this morning around nine?”

There was a long pause before Jarvis replied, “Captain Rogers accepts your invitation, Chef. He asked to meet you in the lobby.”

“Sounds good, thanks Jarvis.”

Annika chewed her lip, praying she wasn’t about to make a massive mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure y’all are wondering about Peggy. Well, I haven’t forgotten her and neither has Steve. Peggy angst and an adventure coming up in the next chapter!


End file.
